


End Of All Days

by le_chat_vilain



Series: The Joker and the Thief [29]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, Grief, Suicide, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_chat_vilain/pseuds/le_chat_vilain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sirens escort Blaire home and leave her to her own devices, causing her to confront the harsh reality of her future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Of All Days

**Author's Note:**

> [TW: attempted suicide, grief, blood, coarse language] Attempted suicide - or really, successful suicide technically - is the big trigger warning here. The worst part I always find of losing someone, is once the formalities are done, and you’re expected to pick up and get on with life. Get on with living without that person. And Blaire is no different in that respect.
> 
> Musical inspiration is End Of All Days by Thirty Seconds To Mars

The girls escort me home, Selina opting to collect her bike from Freeze’s in the morning given it was none too pleasant to ride in the rain. Not content with simply dropping me off, the three of them walk me right to the front door, and into the living room.

“I’ll see you guys…whenever,” I mutter, waving them off and tossing my soaking wet jacket over the coffee table.

They just stand there, looking at each other awkwardly, sharing some kind of silent conversation, before it’s Pam who huffs and speaks up.

“Blaire, we don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be on your own right now. Why don’t you get some things together and come stay at the animal shelter with us for a while?” she suggests, though the firmness of it makes me feel like it’s more of a demand.

“I’m fine here,” I reply, shucking off my socks and tossing them in the armory sink. Again the silence.

“Blaire, you and I both know-”

“Selina, I said I’m fucking fine. Now get out of my house. I’m exhausted, and I just want to go to bed,” I cut Selina off leaving absolutely no room for questions in my tone. I start toward the bedroom when it’s Harley who lays into me.

“You think you’re the only one who lost someone this week? You think you’re the only one who’s hurting right now?” she shouts at me, and when I glance over my shoulder at her I can see the tears running down her face and the hurt manifesting itself in her entire body. “You think we’re all just here for you, kid? Don’t you ever forget I loved that man long before you ever came along! I know he did me wrong, and I know he was no good for me, but I ain’t ever gonna pretend I stopped carin’!”

I turn to face her, but I’ve got nothing to say to that. I hadn’t forgotten anything, I’m just selfish; I didn’t care what anyone else was feeling right now, that wasn’t my problem.

“Did you ever think, that maybe I need you? Maybe I need you to come home with us, Blaire?” she screams through the tears, and still I say nothing. “Maybe, just maybe I need the only other person in the god damned world who’s feelin’ just like I am right now to help me get through it?”

I feel it coming up like word vomit, cruel, vicious, word vomit that I’ll never be able to take back.

“You think we feel the same right now, Harley?” I whisper in that intense way that makes the hair stand up on the backs of everyone around you. “You think what you feel, is the same as what I’m feeling? Tell me, did he die in your arms? Do you keep replaying that moment over, and over, and over until you literally can’t remember anything else? Did you feel the life leave him in your bones, like the ache of someone slowly bending and breaking them all at once, and then tossing them on hot coals? Don’t you dare claim to know how I feel right now, and don’t you dare let yourself think the way I love him and they way you did are anything even remotely alike. There’s a difference between obsession and love.”

She’s completely speechless, lips pursed and tears still flowing, her hands balled into fists by her sides, shaking.

“Furthermore, what you want is not my problem. What you need is not my problem, and how you fucking feel is not my problem either. That’s what your girlfriend’s for. I don’t need you, or anyone else in this room for that matter. The one fucking person I have ever needed isn’t here anymore. So leave me the fuck alone. Let me get out of these wet clothes before I catch pneumonia, so I can get some fucking sleep,” I growl. “Get the fuck out. If I have to ask again, there will be blood.”

I stand my ground, staring them all down.

“Suit yourself. Come on, let’s go,” Selina says with resignation, turning and heading for the door.  Pam follows suit but Harley doesn’t budge.

“Sweetie, come on,” Pam urges her, hand on her shoulder.

“I’m gonna pretend that’s the grief talkin’, kid,” she tells me.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Harley, I don’t care,” I reply, and she turns into Pam who puts an arm around her, and they follow Selina out. Pam takes one last look over her shoulder at me, a sad, disappointed sigh on her lips, and then closes the door.

I stand there staring at it, waiting until I hear the engine start up and that’s when I let go of the control.

Anger consumes me in that moment. White hot rage so blinding I can almost feel my skin burning. I’m so mad, at him, at them, at Arkham, and most of all, at myself. I can blame everyone else until the cows come home, but at the end of the day, it was my recklessness that got him dosed with that shit in the first place. He’s dead because I’m a fucking idiot. I flip the coffee table, I’m pegging glasses and empty ammo clips around the room, anything I can get my hands on gets thrown, tipped, smashed, or ripped until I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by grief’s carnage.

Eventually I find the strength to stand up and trudge to the bathroom, hoping I can wash away the pain, or at least hide my tears under the running water.

But when I get in there, standing in that shower where I first felt that electrifying connection to him, where I had that first inkling that there was more to us than our shared dark sides, I realize: I can’t do this. Three days without him, that’s all I can manage. For a second I forget what I am. I reach out and take his straight razor from the vanity. I know he didn’t want me to give up, but I’m not one of those people who’s afraid of failure.

I drag it across my throat and collapse.

I wake up gasping and have a few blissful seconds before the darkness descends upon me again and I let out a frustrated roar.

I don’t know how many times I do it, how many times I bleed out on that floor before I admit defeat. How long I sit there, slashing my wrists open and watching them heal, over, and over again, wondering if this time will be it, if this time I’ll finally die. But my flesh just keeps knitting itself back together, and so I just sit there until the water runs clear and cold on my skin.

He’s everywhere I look. In every brick, in every tile, in every infinitesimal detail of this place. I can’t escape. I can’t bring myself to leave this place because I can’t stand the thought of not being near him somehow.

Somewhere along the way, who I am became so deeply interwoven with who he was and who we were together, that he became so big a part of me I can barely function anymore. I’m lost. Floating in nothingness, grasping hopelessly at straws looking for some direction, some kind of purpose, a mission to drive me on because without something, it’s going to be a very, very long immortal life.

I lift my head from its place in my hands and that’s when I see it there on the vanity: that little tub of manic panic. For the most part, Jay was a weirdly neat and tidy guy, but his one excruciatingly bad habit was leaving shit all over the vanity, most notoriously that electric green hair dye. It hurts in the depths of my soul when I start to automatically call out to get up him for it, before I realize he’s not there anymore.

After taking a second to muster the strength, I stand up, turn the water off and get out, wrapping a towel around me and reaching out to pick it up and put it in the bin. But I can’t do it. My hand is hovering over the can and yet it just won’t let go. I glance at my face in the mirror, my silver hair hanging in wet tendrils around my face. My eyes bloodshot and puffy, eyeliner still smudged around them making me look like a drowned raccoon.

_You’re gonna keep going. You’re gonna give ‘em hell for me, okay?_

His words rattle around in my skull, and just like that, I know what I have to do. Even though he’s dead and gone, he’s still giving me a reason to keep living.

I can’t be the Blaire I was before. I need to evolve. He’s a part of me, and so long as I’m alive, he is too. Somewhere in here. So, I’m gonna take the best of me, and the best of him, and I’m going to bring this city to it’s filthy fucking whore knees.

I unscrew the lid, whip out a pair of latex gloves, and smear the dye on my locks. I let it develop and rinse it out, then grab the scissors out and cut. The result is an edgy bob that’s level with my jaw. I shrug on his coat and study myself in the mirror, and when I reach my hand into the pocket I pull out something I didn’t think existed anymore – a single x-round.

Give ‘em hell? Baby, I’m gonna redefine it. Just for you.

But first, I have a little unfinished business to attend to.


End file.
